


all stories deserve an end

by bleep0bleep



Series: A Series of Tumblr Ficlets [19]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 16:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8497753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: No one hardly ever comes up to this area of the forest, especially with the rumors of the “mad wizard.” Stiles encourages the rumor, because it means people leave him alone. It’s a good, solitary existence as long as Stiles pretends the aching loneliness in his heart isn’t there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr [ here](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/post/151967998760/so-sterekseason-made-a-prompt-for-middle-aged) for a prompt for "middle-aged sterek" 
> 
>  
> 
> title is by calliope83
> 
> french translation available [here ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12199431/2/Les-surprises-de-GershwinTHECat)

“And then what happened?”

“What? The old man raises his eyebrows. “I’ve told you everything, how to get rid of the kelpies, all of it. There’s nothing else to the story.”

The pack is new, untested, with a fresh young Alpha trying to get its handle on things.

A boy in a plaid shirt folds his arms. “What happened to Stiles and Derek?”

“The hell kind of question is that? Get off my porch, scram. You’ve got kelpies to deal with.” The man stands up, his eyes narrowing with anger.

The pack scatters, their young emissary— the boy with the too—curious questions— quickly nods their thanks to the old wise man. He’s lived outside this little Oregon town for at least a decade; stories follow him like smoke and ashes. He’s dangerous, wields magic and power as if it’s nothing.

They’ve come far to seek help; and it had been worth it, hours of explanation and recounts of lore, how another pack once dealt with this kind of threat.

The boy looks back once more at the old man rocking on his porch. It seemed like a story unfinished.

 

* * *

 

Stiles watches the kids go, his heart heavy. Another ragtag group of teenagers. They seemed naive at first, and had assumed Stiles would underestimate them. Baby them. Not give them the information they needed, but Stiles was reminded of another pack, long ago.  

He drops the glamour once he hears the cars pull away, leaving down the trail towards town. No one hardly ever comes up to this area of the forest, especially with the rumors of the “mad wizard.” Stiles encourages the rumor, because it means people leave him alone. Occasionally he’ll get the few daredevils, teenagers wanting a chance to look at the haunted cottage, so he’ll glamour himself to look like a hundred-year-old-man and act real crotchety. He doesn’t have a lawn, but it’s pretty fun telling kids to get off it.

And then there are the people looking for help. Genuine supernatural help. It’s not that often, given how hard Stiles makes for anyone to find this place, but the determined do succeed.

Stiles walks inside, stretching as he goes. He catches sight of his reflection in the living room mirror and grimaces. He’s got more gray in his hair than he thought he did. Every day he’s looking more and more like the old man he disguises himself as and pretty soon he won’t have to use magic to look like that anymore. He sighs, poking at his soft belly, eyeing the wrinkles around his eyes.

He’s on the wrong side of fifty, but then again, it’s pretty rare for anyone involved in the supernatural to live this long anyways. Most people would consider him lucky.

Stiles doesn’t like to think about it much.

He finds his sun hat and puts it on; it won’t do to get a sunburn at this age. He strolls back outside, settling back in his rocking chair, watching the clouds puff across the sky. It’s nice, this patch of Oregon. Nothing happens much. Stable packs all around, he doesn’t have to do anything, but occasionally someone will ask him for help. Stiles doesn’t mind. He’s got a nice, peaceful life. He wakes up, has his coffee and a bagel, works around in his garden for a bit. Makes lunch. Maybe a book, or a nap. See what’s on the TV. Dinner. Watch the sunset from his porch. Head inside, keeps his supernatural files up to date. Bed. It’s routine. It’s peaceful. Aside from having to field questions from packs all over the state occasionally, nothing ever happens. It’s a good, solitary existence as long as Stiles pretends the aching loneliness in his heart isn’t there.

He sits on his chair, rocking back and forth, and is considering a nap when he hears footsteps approaching. Stiles opens his eyes.

“Sir— I was just curious— oh— um—”

It’s the boy again, without his pack this time.

“Shouldn’t you kids be hitting the road?” Stiles raises an eyebrow.

“Jimmy and the girls can fit in one car. I can drive back later. Plus, they don’t need me for the negotiating part. I’m just the research guy.”

“Not just,” Stiles says, holding a hand up. He gets up from the chair, favoring his right knee a bit. “Well, if you’re sticking around, you may as well make yourself useful and help me with the weeding.”

“Oh! Yes, I can do that.”

“What’s your name?” Stiles eyes the would-be emissary. Who doesn’t know he is one yet.

“Ricky. Thanks, Mister, uh—”

Stiles snorts to himself and waves the kid off. He knows what the youths call him. Wild gossip and all that. The One Who Ran With Wolves; the Keeper of Spells; Death himself.

It’s that last one that makes him queasy; he never likes to remember that time.

Stiles shows the kid where the shed is, and putters back into the cottage  to make some tea. He catches sight of his reflection in the kettle and sits on a chair.

He’s so tired. He’s watched his friends— good people, people he’s loved— pass before it was their time, defending their home. He wonders briefly what Beacon Hills is like now; he’s heard there’s a new protector, but he doesn’t have the heart to go back. There’s nothing there anyways. Everyone he’s ever loved is either dead or gone, scattered to the wind.

The roar of the lawn mower ends, and Ricky tentatively enters the kitchen from the back. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Have some tea,” Stiles says, pushing a cup at him. “It’s got peppermint in it. Good for your spark.”

“My what?”

Stiles spends a few minutes playing Obi Wan Kenobi. Ricky’s not a bad egg, he decides, even if he’s a bit cheeky. After Stiles explained about the glamour, Ricky agrees that the long white beard is pretty cool and adds to the mystical wizard affect a lot, but suggests Stiles grow his own instead. Stiles huffs; his hair is graying, not white. He is a middle-aged man, even though the lady at the movie theater always gives him the senior discount.

He totters off to his bookshelf, picking a few choice copies and returns, pushing the books at the kid.

“I can’t take these,” Ricky says, eyes widening as he traces the cover of one. “These are priceless. Handed down from emissary to emissary—”

“Well, I’m handing it down to you,” Stiles says, annoyed.

Ricky drinks his tea, sitting apprehensively and looking back at Stiles.

“Go on, ask your questions. It’s why you stayed, right?”

Ricky clutches his cup. “I just— yeah. I just needed to know. The pack that you were telling us about, the ones that negotiated with those kelpies— they were real people, and you— the way you were talking about them— your friends?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, taking a deep breath and exhaling. “Mostly dead now. Or gone. I’m older than I look, kiddo.” Magic does strange things when it lives in your body. Like werewolves, the life expectancy– if you survive everything else– of emissaries is relatively unknown, given how scattered the elderly ones are and how protective they are of their secrets. Stiles has no idea what to expect, if he’s to live another fifty years, or a hundred even. His life is set, though, however many lonely years are left. He can see himself growing old in this little cottage, getting more brittle with age before slowly fading out of existence.

“Can you tell me what happened to Stiles and Derek?”

“Why do you want to know?”

A blush starts on Ricky’s cheeks. “I just— I like stories. And they sounded like they were in love, you know.” He looks wistful.

Stiles looks off into the distance, lost in memory. “Maybe,” he says finally. “They never got the chance.”

“You mean—”

“Look, Derek left Beacon Hills a year before the kelpies attacked. He and his sister came back and were visiting town and were able to help the pack. Derek gave Stiles the key to the vault with all the lore and the histories of magic and you know the rest of the story on how they dealt with the kelpies and everything. Derek left town not long after that, and that’s the end of it. Not sure what you want to know.”

Ricky frowns. “But— the way you talked about them— and Stiles saved Derek’s life! Right there in the lake, and then the kelpies wanted a sacrifice, and Derek offered himself in Stiles’ stead and I just— I don’t see how they don’t love each other.”

Stiles sets his teacup down with a bitter clang. “Whatever, kid. You’re seeing too much into things. It’s just a story, okay? It was a long time ago, before you were even born. It’s not important.”

“But it is,” Ricky insists.

“No.”

Ricky’s lip wobbles, and fuck, Stiles didn’t mean to make the kid cry. Is he crying?

“Why can’t you just tell me what happened to them? Did Stiles leave and tell him how he felt? Did Derek come back? I just want to know— if a love like that can work— I want to— I love someone in my pack like that and I just need—”

Stiles puts a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Look. Just because it didn’t work out between me and Derek doesn’t mean you and your person can’t find happiness. Relationships are hard. If you care about them, just talk to each other. Support each other. You can work it out.”

Ricky nods.

They sit there, drinking their tea, and Stiles even opens a box of cookies that he shares with the kid. They’re dry, the store bought kind, which just makes Stiles even more aware of the sad state of his life, but whatever. He’s alright.

Ricky talks with him a bit more, and it’s kind of nice, having conversation, and finally Stiles is seeing him out the door with a box of books, the tin of cookies, and a cup of peppermint tea for the road. “Goodbye,” Ricky says, as he steps onto the porch.

“Bye, Ricky,” Stiles says, closing the door.

Ricky freezes, as if he’s just realized something. “Wait, you’re—”

Stiles huffs. “Have a safe trip.”

 

* * *

 

Spring turns into summer, and Stiles is in the garden, pruning his roses. He stretches a little, and then his back cracks. “Ugh,” Stiles groans.

He makes his way back inside his home, wondering if it’s worth spending the energy for a healing spell. Does he still have any wormwood?

There’s a knock on the door.

Stiles can make the shape of a person out through the curtains. They knock again.

“Hold your horses, I’m coming!” Stiles grumbles, shuffling to the door.

He pulls it open, ready to glare any would-be solicitors away, but he stops.

“Um. Hello.”

“Hi.” Stiles blinks.

The years have been good to Derek; his hair is salt-and-pepper, mostly gray at the temples, and his features have softened a little. He looks comfortable, wearing a soft green sweater, and his eyes are still every bit as stunning as they were years ago.

“It’s you,” Derek breathes.

“It’s me,” Stiles says, and immediately regrets it. Really, after all this time, all he can come up with is _Hi_ and _it’s me?_

“Uh, would you like to come in?” he offers.

Derek steps in, looks around his living room with interest. Stiles puts on a kettle for tea, and they sit down. The catching up is hard, but there are good moments, too. Derek pulls out a wallet filled with photographs—Cora, her wife and their children, all of them still happily living in Peru. The Hale legacy lives on. And Derek? Derek’s been travelling the world, doing a bit of this and that.

“Woodworking?” Stiles asks, delighted. “That is—”

“Don’t you dare,” Derek says, eyes alight in mirth.

“So many pun potentials. Puntentials,” Stiles says, shaking his head.

Derek laughs. It’s a good sound, and it fills the little cottage with warmth.

“So why are you here? How did you even know where I was?” Stiles asks, because he needs to know.

Derek looks at his teacup, and then back up at Stiles. “I was living in Nevada for awhile, and this boy came to find me. Told me you were here and that… our story wasn’t finished.”

“Oh.” Stiles doesn’t know what to make of that. He’s still not sure he isn’t dreaming.

“I knew that if I didn’t come and see if it was really you, I would have regretted it for the rest of my life.”

“Why?”

“Because I was foolish enough to leave without saying goodbye once, and the second time— I was too afraid of what you had come to mean to me. I’m not afraid now.”

“Good,” Stiles says, and he does the most impulsive thing he’s done in years. He leans forward and kisses him.

Derek makes a little noise of pleased surprise and kisses him back, his mouth soft and sweet and he reaches out to cup Stiles’ face, bringing him closer. The kiss seems to last for an eternity and also feels entirely too short when they pull away. Derek presses his forehead to Stiles’ and they hold each other close.

“Will you stay?” Stiles whispers.

“Yes,” Derek says.

Things don’t change much, except they do. It’s pretty peaceful around here. Every morning Stiles will turn over and kisses Derek awake, and they have coffee and breakfast together in the garden, listening to the birds chirp in the forest around them. Then Derek might carve some knickknacks, or maybe finally finish that table he’s been carving forever while Stiles works in the garden. They might take the car into town for lunch or some shopping, or maybe come back to the cottage to take a nap together, fingers interlaced. Evenings are quiet; strolling hand in hand in the forest, reading books side by side.

In fact, it’s pretty boring.

Stiles couldn’t be happier.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! you can always find me on [tumblr](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/bleep0bleep) if you wanna say hi ^__^


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